Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
“You know what, asshole?” Wade says. “If it weren’t for you, she’d be dating me.”
Lach’s lips twitch. “But she’s not.”
“I can wait,” Wade says with a shrug. “She’ll get tired of the way you treat her, sooner or later.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Lach crosses his leg, setting his ankle over his knee, as he leans back in the chair. “The fact still remains that she’ll be with me.”
“Until she’s not,” Wade shoots back.
Lach’s face immediately darkens, but he remains seated. “If you want to believe that, that’s on you, but I’m telling you right now, she’s never going to fucking date you.”
“Just because I’m a nice guy. . .”
“It has nothing to do with you being a nice guy,” Lach says, his green eyes hard as he uncrosses his leg and leans forward in his seat. “She won’t date you because you’re not me. It’s that fucking simple.”
The words that sting me, make Wade laugh. I look away. I know it only hurts because he’s right. The last three years have proved it. Still, the fact that he knows it and says it so callously, hurts. I wish it didn’t, but I can’t change what he makes me feel. I take a breath and focus on remaining calm, and not showing him how much his words affect me. I keep my eyes on the back door the entire time I sip on my smoothie.
“Mark my words, ‘Lachlan Duke,’” Wade says, as if Lach isn’t real and sitting right here. I glance over again. “Sooner or later, you’ll lose her again, and I’ll be here, waiting to pick up the pieces.”
Lach’s jaw clenches but he doesn’t respond. He continues to shoot daggers that I know would be fists if we were outside.
“Text me,” Wade says to me.
I nod in acknowledgment. When I don’t look at him, he exhales heavily and walks away. The moment he walks away, I spring up and go to the back. Marissa’s office is tiny, but she has a comfortable chair. I set my cup on her desk, settle into the chair, and close my eyes. I’m trying not to kick myself for my actions, but it’s hard right now. I shouldn’t have signed that document. For him, I’d do anything, but my sanity isn’t something I’m willing to lose.
I’ve been fine here. I’ve missed him so fucking much, but I’ve been fine. And I know some people, like Marissa, make the argument that simply surviving isn’t truly living, but for me it is and I’m okay with that. For so long, I wanted to bring him here, and now that he’s actually here, I just. . .I don’t know what I feel. If I wish him away, I’d miss him. If he stays and continues to tarnish the place that has brought me peace, I’ll hate him. I take a few deep breaths. I’ve survived worse and I know I’ll survive this. I just wish I didn’t have to.
When I open my eyes, I check my phone and realize I slept for an hour. An hour. Shit. Without Wade’s help with my setup, I actually might be late. I spring into action and grab the emergency bag I keep here. I brush my teeth, fix my ponytail, apply deodorant, and wash my face. When I walk back into the lounging area, Lachlan’s still sitting in the same chair, doing something on his phone. He’s so fucking gorgeous that for a split second, I want to drop all pretenses and kiss him. I don’t. I won’t. Good looks do not overshadow good hearts. Ever.
Outwardly, I ignore him when I grab my cup to toss it. Inwardly, my heart is skyrocketing. I say goodbye to Marissa and jog to the pitch. It’s only a block over, so it’s not like it’s a huge feat, but I have a lot of shit to do before the kids I’m training get here. In my mind, I start going over the drills. I’ve never worked with a co-ed team, but since it’s just drills and training, they could be poodles and still catch on. Wade usually trains the boys/men, and when he’s out of town playing, Cooper does it or he has some of his friends drop by. Today, both of them were busy, so the kids are stuck with me. I’m walking out of the building with cones in one arm and dragging a bucket full of soccer balls with the other, when I get the tingling sensation that crawls up my arms and seeps into my core when Lach’s around.
“Let me help you,” he says behind me.
I think about it. If I let him help, I’m sort of letting him in, but I’ll get this done faster. Fuck it. If he’s dead set on following me around and trying to make me feel like shit at every turn, he might as well help. I let him grab the bucket, set the cones down, and go back inside for the nets. The only reason I’m emotional when he’s around is that I let my guard down completely for him, once, and it felt good. I felt something. Now, I can’t make myself not feel things around him. He makes me angry, sad, confused, and relieved. Worst of all, he brought butterflies with him and set them free in my stomach. He’s not the Lach I once knew, though. He may look the same, walk the same, and smell the same, but it’s not him. The imposter in front of me shouldn’t even make me feel this way, and I hate it. I take a very deep breath and focus on soccer. Soccer and helping people are the only things that get me going these days. With his help, the setup is done fifteen minutes before the kids are supposed to get here.